Closer To You
by cloverblob
Summary: Mary and David have their memories blindly returning. James can't get to sleep when the two most important women in his life are in the room next to him; so close, yet too far. Charmings-centric.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Closer To You  
><strong>Author:<strong> Me, RiVeR123.  
><strong>Rating: <strong>K  
><strong>Pairing(s): <strong>Snow White/Prince Charming  
><strong>Warning(s):<strong> Lotsa fluff.  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Mary and David have their memories blindly returning. James can't get to sleep when the two most important women in his life are in the room next to him; so close, yet too far.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>Not my characters. **  
><strong>

**CLOSER TO YOU**

Mary Margaret sits up in bed. No, not Mary – Snow. She's Snow White, but she's been Mary for twenty-eight years and the persona is a little hard to shake, even if she's regained each memory flash by flash over the past few days. She knows who she is, but to everyone else, she's still Mary and for now, she'll continue to be Mary to them until they remember as clearly as she does. There's no telling how long it'll take, but Snow can be patient.

She closes the book in her hands, she'd already stopped actually reading the words a few minutes ago anyway when she was thrown into thought. She'd tried to force herself to focus on the story, but the sound of her own musings proved far too distracting.

Snow looks down to her right at the mess of blonde hair nestled tightly into her side. Unbeknownst to the sleeping woman, she'd encroached into Snow's personal bubble. Snow smiles, very carefully brushing the hair out of her daughter's face. It'd been a struggle to convince the woman that she didn't mind sharing the bed for the night. But when she did finally agree, Emma had fallen asleep within minutes of hitting the pillow, and not much longer after that, found her way into cozying up to Snow who had decided to stay up for a little while longer.

There a click and rusting at the door and Snow looks up to find her husband slowly opening. "Hey," he calls out quietly.

Snow puts her outstretched index finger to her lips. "She's sleeping," she informs, then gestures for him to come in.

There's a smile on James' face as he rounds the bed, softly sitting on the edge by his wife. "Why aren't _you_ sleeping?" he asks as he wraps a hand atop one of hers.

She raises the book in her other hand, answering his question, then places it on the bedside table. "I got distracted though," she whispers, her head tilting towards the heavy-breathing mass at her side.

There's a look of deep thought on her husband's face as he turns his gaze on the blonde, whose left leg is sticking halfway off the bed and arm has found its way to curl around Snow's torso. "I can hardly believe that's our little girl."

"I can. She sleeps like you," she jokes. "Why aren't _you_ sleeping? Don't like her bed?"

"I'm just a little sore," James admits. He's been asleep for twenty-eight years; it's difficult to find a good, comfortable position to go back to sleep in. "Her bed smells like her."

Snow crinkles her nose. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No," he breathes with a chuckle. "It just makes me want to be closer to you two."

"The next room isn't close enough?"

He shakes his head. "Not after twenty-eight years."

"Don't worry, love," she assures, cupping her palm to the side of his face. "We can be together forever again."

"I want to tell her," he says, leaning in closer to his wife. He examines her green eyes in the lamp light.

Snow sighs. "She won't believe us. Not yet. I know her. She'll freak out."

"I want to know her, too," he says.

"Are you jealous?" she teases.

"Yes," he admits nonchalantly. "I want to know my baby girl. Is that so bad?"

"Well, she's certainly not a baby anymore. And... I don't think she likes you all that much."

"What?" he exclaims, his voice rising and Snow reaches her hand out quickly to cover his mouth.

They both sit in utter silence for a few moments, watching as Emma stirs for a moment, scratches her nose with the back of her hand, and then turns her head to the other side – drifting right back into deep sleep. There's an audible sigh of relief from them both, and a restrained urge to start laughing uncontrollably.

"She wants to run a background check on you," Snow continues, quieter than before. "Make sure you weren't an axe-murderer in a past life. It's cute. She's protective."

"Well, that's just not fair. I don't think I look like an axe-murderer. Is it the scruff? Should I shave?"

"I think it makes you look rugged, Charming," she replies with a grin, softly running the back of her hand along his stubbled cheek. "Do you need help shaving?"

"No, I'm good. My hands are almost perfect again, I have more trouble with my legs. Can't walk for too long."

"It takes time."

"I know," he says, "but now that I have you to help me, it'll be a breeze."

The two lovers are drawn from their conversation by the sound of a low grumbling and they turn their heads, quickly growing silent.

"What are you doing in here?" Emma murmurs groggily. She realizes the position she was in and quickly snaps her arm away from its curl around Snow's stomach and props herself up by the elbows.

"Sorry we woke you. I was just asking M-Mary a question," James replies hastily, it takes a moment to remember the right name and he stammers.

"Dude, it's like two in the morning. Go to sleep. Holy crap..." she complains in lazy frustration, then turns over onto her side away from them, pulling the covers back up to her collarbone and attempts to fall back asleep.

'She doesn't like you,' Snow mouths, amused.

James makes a small pout with his lips, then grins. 'Goodnight,' he mouths back, leaning in to give her a kiss, his eyes taking a momentary glance to ensure that their daughter isn't watching. "I'll talk to you tomorrow," he whispers to his wife as he gets up off the bed and the weight shifts back to its original state."Goodnight, Emma," he adds softly as he opens the door. She grunts in reply and he resists the urge to chuckle as he leaves, closing the bedroom door softly behind him.

Snow, a little more settled now, leans over to turn off her dim lamp and ready herself for bed. As she's pulling up the blanket she hears, "He's married." Emma hasn't moved from her position and it makes Snow smile knowingly at the woman's assumption.

"I know." _To me_.

**Author's Note:** This is oh so fluffy. I might continue with explanation as to why David/James is staying with them, etc. Possibly an actual plot line if I feel up to it. Or, you know, if you review!


	2. Chapter 2

Emma's eyes flutter open as the sun settles into the sky, shining into her face. She realizes she's cuddled into Mary's side again, the other woman holding her snug against her body. Emma almost feels embarrassed, she slowly unravels herself from the grip and tosses the blanket off. Of all the various places she's found herself asleep in, cuddling next to someone was never one of them. She's a lone ranger, this one.

She vaguely remembers waking up earlier in the night in the same position, which worries her. She's never placed herself as the snuggling type. But there's an attraction that Mary has about her, she's warm and smells like cinnamon and it makes Emma feel comfortable. Which is totally weird.

Not wanting her movements to wake her roommate up, Emma stands slowly, running a hand through her hair and shaking it up before stepping outside into the hallway. Lazily, she drags her feet as she walks into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She looks herself in the mirror, cleaning the gunk out of her eyes and splashing water on her face until she feels a little more fresh. Only when she turns off the tap does she hear rustling out in the kitchen, and prudently goes to inspect.

She shuffles down the stairs, catching a glimpse of David, in boxer shorts and a sweater, shaking a pan over the stove. She walks around the kitchen island, and he spots her before she realizes he has. Self-consciously, Emma pulls down the hem of her tank top that had ridden up to expose her hip bone.

"Good morning," he greets, that crooked smile with perfect teeth plastered on his face.

"What are you doing?" Emma asks scrutinously, taking a seat on a stool at the counter. She's already begun her task of staring him down. It doesn't seem to phase him though, and he turns back to his cooking.

"Making breakfast," he answers, pulling out a bottle of syrup from the cupboard. 'Would you like some?" he asks, but doesn't wait for a reply as he puts a plate of food onto the table in front of her.

"I don't know. Did you poison it?"

"Yes," he replies with a grin, sticking his fork into a piece of egg on her plate and taking a bite. "This is a murder-suicide." He turns off the stove, setting his own plate down across from her. There's a third resting by the dishes, which she figures is for Mary.

Emma studies the food, then cuts a chunk of pancake and bites. "Good murder," she says with her mouth still chewing, classy as ever.

David chuckles, "Thank you."

"You couldn't remember your name, but you know how to cook. That's interesting."

"I- uhm, maybe I used to be a chef," he offers as explanation, still smiling. As he watches her drench her pancake in syrup, David makes a face of amused disgust.

"Don't judge," she says defensively, snapping the lid of the syrup bottle closed. "I like syrup."

"Okay," he replies, raising his hands apologetically. "Thank you, for last night. For inviting me and insisting I sleep in your bed."

"Yeah, it's cool. Like I said yesterday, you're still recovering, couches aren't good for the body."

"Still. Not everyone would do that for someone they barely know. You're really kind."

"Uh-huh," she replies, her attention having shifted to her food. James notes that she doesn't seem to be able to take a compliment, wondering about that aspect of her personality as he watches her more intently than she feels comfortable with. "Do I look like a TV to you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're staring."

"Oh." James shakes himself out of it, turning his gaze away abruptly. "I'm sorry, I was- I was just thinking."

Emma stares at him expectantly, waiting for the elaboration on his thoughts.

But James can't explain what he was thinking about, because telling her that he's noticing they have the same eyes would creep her out. "I was uhm... You're the deputy, right?"

"Sure. It's not actually much of a job. This town's not exactly full of hardcore criminals."

"Well, if you get bored. You can always arrest me," he says jokingly, but Emma's unamused.

She's silent for a moment, and James feels awkward. Usually he comes across in much better light to most people. Hell, _everyone_ likes him when they first meet him. It makes him feel tentative when she lifts her head back up to speak. "Are you flirting with me?" she asks, eyebrows narrowed.

"What? No!" he exclaims. "No, no, no, of course not. I'm just trying to be, well, charming." She doesn't get the pun, but his own choice of words don't escape his notice.

"Well, you're not very good at it. You need to work on that," she tells him with a shrug and continues to eat.

James looks taken aback. No one's ever told him that before. He ponders on his wife's words from the night before. Maybe she really _didn't_ like him. The thought worried him; how was he going to get to know her if she didn't want to get to know him?

"What were you and Mary talking about last night?"

"Nothing in particular," he answers quickly, prepared.

"You're married."

"I am," he agrees.

"Good. So you know if you charm her and then get her hopes up and hurt her, I'll kick your ass," she warns, though her voice is calm and collected – like they're still talking about breakfast. Her threat is issued in the most state of fact manner, and then she simply gulfs down the last of her eggs.

James stares at his daughter dumbstruck, both happy and a little frightful at her words. He found it utterly endearing how she was looking after a woman who she only knew as a friend and nothing more. James decides to remain silent from then, not exactly sure how to reply to such a threat. Then, he hears the sound of footsteps.

"Good morning," sings the voice that's always been music to his ears. Both blondes turn their heads in Snow's direction. They both smile at her, James with a toothy grin and Emma with a more subdued stretch of her lips. "You made breakfast," Snow comments, spotting the plate set aside for her, the look on her face silently thanking her husband.

"Hey, how do you know it wasn't me?" Emma asks, leaning back with her arms crossed.

Snow raises her eyebrows, her expression explaining all it needed to.

"I can kind of cook, you know," Emma says in defence, there's a hint of a pout on her face but she doesn't let it come to fruition.

"You burned the toast last week."

"Your toaster's strange," she replies meekly, then takes a piece of bacon from James' unfinished plate having finished her own. He notices, but doesn't say anything – he really wants her to like him.

The action doesn't escape Snow's eye. "You shouldn't take other peoples' food, Emma," she chastises as she sits upon her own stool to begin her breakfast.

"He doesn't mind, right, David?"

James opens his mouth, then changes the words he was going to say to a simple, "Not at all." Emma grins at her mother, and Snow catches that they now both have the same smile on their face and she shakes her head bemusedly.

"I'm going to take a shower. I have to get to work soon," Emma informs as she pops the rest of the strip into her mouth and hops off the stool. Before she leaves, she gives the man a threatening look to force him to remember her threat, then puts on a smile for Snow's benefit and turns the corner.

They wait until they hear the sound of water running before they feel safe enough to speak freely again. "What was that about?" Snow asks, fully aware of the interaction that had just taken place.

"Would you believe she _threatened_ me?"

"Oh no," Snow says, trying her best to not smile.

"Oh yes. If I were to string you along and inadvertently hurt you she will, and I quote, 'kick my ass'."

"She means well. She's just... a little rough around the edges."

"Yes. Feisty. Reminds me of someone I know."

Snow puts a hand to her chest, feigning innocence. "Little ol' me?"

James laughs, he knows his wife all too well and their 'rough around the edges' daughter is a lot like her – especially when it comes to feistiness. "Do you have work too?"

"It's Saturday," Snow replies. "But I do have somewhere I have to be."

"Oh?"

"I need to see a boy about a book."

"Ah, right. We need to figure this out."

"We do, and he's a clever boy. I bet he knows more than he was willing to tell people who didn't believe him." Snow finishes up her plate, then picks it up and takes it over to the kitchen sink. "I'm going to go get ready, you going to come with me?"

"Yeah, sure, okay."

"Good," she says, leaning into him for a soft kiss. She pulls away from him to head into her room and change, but before she turns the corner her husband calls out her name.

"Snow." She's looking back at him questioningly. "We're grandparents."

She looks a mixture of both distressed and content at this comment. "Don't remind me."

**Author's Note: **Holy reviews, Batman! Seriously, the feedback was so great I simply couldn't _not _continue! I'll try an update twice or three times a week with various word count, depending on how college agrees! Hope this holds up to expectations! Keep it up with the reviews, it really made me pop this update out fast.


	3. Chapter 3

Henry Mills sits in the diner, his feet dangling under the table as he waits with a hot chocolate in between hands. His jacket is still on and zipped up because he was feeling a little chilly, even indoors. He contemplates why Ruby doesn't seem to be cold, even though she's wearing shorts and it's nearing the end of fall. He thinks maybe it's a girl thing, because Emma only ever seems to wear a short leather jacket even though the other night they were outside and the temperature was wavering around freezing. Miss Blanchard seems to know how to dress for the weather though, he notices as the bell above the diner door chimes and she enters in a long coat.

Another man follows, who he recognizes as John Doe and smiles to himself. Henry couldn't be happier to see them together; maybe they can make some progress in remembering who they really are – especially if they're interacting with each other.

"Hi, Henry," Miss Blanchard greets, and Henry smiles up at her. He watches her take a seat in the booth across from him, Mr. Doe following suit. "Do you remember Mr. Nolan?"

Henry nods. "I remember."

"Hi, Henry," Mr. Nolan says warmly, extending his hand for the boy to shake. Henry takes the offer.

"Why did you want to meet me? Where's Emma?"

"She's gone to work today, we just have some questions we want to ask you." Miss Blanchard is always so kind to him. He knows she treats him like a little kid, like most people do, but he doesn't mind when she's the one who does it.

"Both of you? Together?" he questions eagerly. Henry can barely contain his excitement at this. Maybe the two of them have sparked a budding romance without any real nudging from him.

"Yes. Do you know how you said that I'm Snow White and Mr. Nolan is Prince Charming, from your book?" Henry nods excitedly. "Well, you were one hundred percent right." The boy's eyes are wide with wonder.

"You mean it?"

"We remember who we are, Henry," Prince Charming tells him.

"This is fantastic! Now you can join Operation Cobra."

"_Operation Cobra_?" Charming repeats quizzically.

"It's what Emma and I call our plan to save Storybrooke. Why isn't she here? We should be having a meeting to decide what we do next." Henry hasn't seen Emma in a few days, for a few of reasons. She's busy with the new job, his mother's being particularly strict and it kind of seems like she's avoiding him. He's not sure about the latter, but it troubles him all the same.

"Henry, you can't tell Emma that we remember," Miss Blanchard says, reaching across the table to enclose his hand with hers – an attempt to make sure he understands the point.

"You mean you haven't told her? Why not?"

"She doesn't _fully_ believe you, sweetie." That was a little white lie that Snow wishes she didn't have to tell, Emma didn't believe a single word. "She's an adult who was raised in this world, and it's really hard for her to wrap her head around."

"Well then, we have to show her!"

"Hey, kiddo. I want to tell her as much as you do, but Snow's right. We just have to be patient," the Prince chimes in.

"Maybe you could just do a DNA test like on TV and then she'll know for sure."

"That's... not a bad idea," Snow ponders. "But I have a question for you. Do you know how to reverse the curse?"

Henry shakes his head. "I just know that Emma's the one that has to do it. That's all the book said."

"We should have done more to help her back before she was born instead of just leaving her to fend for herself," James says in regret, shaking his head at his past choices.

"Don't, James. We did all that we could," Snow says, placing a hand on his leg in comfort. There's no way she's going to let him blame himself, when they both had a play in this. Thinking back, she wishes she'd have killed the queen where she stood on their wedding day. She doubts it'd have been possible, but she wishes she would have at least tried. Anything to have saved their family from this.

"You gave her her best chance. I wouldn't even be born if you didn't protect her like you did."

Snow's mind is racing, there's so many of her memories of Mary's that have become clouded by her real ones. And the boy's words prompt a recent memory to resurface. "Henry, what you told me before... about Emma's life. Was that all true?"

The boy nods tentatively, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's good that I know."

"Know what?" James enquires, their interaction seems cryptic to him.

"I'll tell you later."

"Snow... She's my daughter too."

"And I'll tell you. Later."

James eyes his wife, a hint of worry in his expression. It's clear he wants to press the issue, but that look on Snow's face tells him it's not happening. "So, what's the plan?" he asks instead, turning his attention back on the little boy across the table.

"Well, I don't really have one. I've spent most of my time just trying to convince everyone of who they are. Say, how did you start to remember anyway?"

The adults turn their heads, facing each other. There's a glimmer of a smirk on both of their faces. "I think I have an idea," Snow answers.

"What? What is it?" Henry asks, leaning forward in his seat.

"True love's kiss."

A smile grows on the child's face as he looks from one grandparent to the other. He feels like he should have known – Snow White and Prince Charming had a romance so epic not even this curse could break its power. He thinks it's wondrous. Henry sits elated, until the sound of the door opening grabs his attention and the click of heels walks across the floor towards them.

"Henry, what are you doing here?" asks his mother, a stern look on her face. It's clear this wasn't where he was supposed to be.

"I just came to get hot chocolate and Ms. Blanchard and her friend came in," Henry replies, eyes wide as he feigns innocence.

James and Snow can barely contain their glaring. They know now what she's done; their memories in the Enchanted Forest are as clear as if they happened yesterday. But they force themselves to remember - right now, they're Mary and David, recent friends. "Madam Mayor," Snow greets, courteous.

"Ms. Blanchard. I'd expect this kind of behaviour from your roommate, not you."

"We're not doing anything wrong," Snow makes sure she keeps herself subdued, but the mention of her daughter makes that very difficult.

Regina though, isn't even bothering to listen, reaching to take a hold of her son's backpack set on the ground beside the booth. "We're leaving, let's go." She's already holding the door open as Henry gets out of his seat.

With a final look back, Henry grasps onto James' arm. "The forest. You should go into the forest and look for the dwarves. They'll help." He's staring at his biological grandfather imploringly and the prince only nods in response.

The boy rushes toward his waiting mother, satisfied with his work. The two lovers glance at each other, sharing the same thoughts.

"Time to catch up with some old friends."

**Author's Note:** Dun, dun, dun... So, still freaking awesome reviews! Thanks so much, I have a blast reading your comments! If you have any questions, I'd be glad to answer them. Also drop a suggestion if there's anything you'd like to see, and I'll take it under consideration. Emma will be back in the next chapter for some more great family time! Keep on reading and reviewing! :D


	4. Chapter 4

**ONE WEEK EARLIER**

"David?" Mary questioned, having spotted him from down the street. He was sitting on the curb just off Storybrooke's main street, kicking a pebble around.

"Mary Margaret. Emma. What are you two doing out this late?" he enquired, looking up at them.

"We could ask you the same thing. We just went for a drink. Are you okay?" Mary asked, always the concerned one.

"I'm fine," he answered with a small smile. "I'm just... sitting." David seemed a little awkward, shrugging his shoulders at the two women.

"Are you sure? It's a little chilly for that sweater you're wearing."

"The man says he's fine, maybe we should leave him be."

"I'm not cold, actually. I'm just a little lost." He muttered the last part, embarrassed by the fact.

"I could help you find your way home. I'm sure Kathryn is really worried."

"Oh, I don't want to bother you."

"It's no trouble," Mary asserted, a warm smile spreading across her face.

"Then yes, thank you." David got to his feet, wincing slightly at the strain it has on his thigh muscles. He wondered when the painful sensation of moving his muscles is going to stop.

"Should I come along too?" Emma asked tentatively, not that she really knew the town better than any amnesiac.

"It's fine, go home, get some rest. This won't take long," Mary Margaret assured, still smiling and Emma nodded. The woman was a grown adult, Emma didn't need to be worried that the coma guy was going to attack her once they were alone in the middle of the night. Didn't stop her from doing it though.

"Alright," she said with a nod, "See ya. Bye, David."

"Goodbye," he waved to her as she left, heading back in the direction the pair had previously been walking.

"Ginmarch Road, right?"

"Uhm, I think so...," he said. "I can probably point out the house if I see it," he informed.

"Alright, it's this way," she said, gesturing in the proper direction and they both began to walk. "How are things with you?"

"I'm okay, still adjusting, but I'll get there."

"No memories?"

David shook his head and grimaced, though he wasn't sure he felt all that sad about it if he were to be completely honest. Memories would be nice, but he didn't have much of a desire to remember Kathryn – as horrible as that might have sounded. He didn't feel a connection with her, he wasn't endeared by her personality or overwhelmed by her looks. Those feelings were directed towards someone else entirely.

"Have you thought about maybe hypnosis?"

"Oh, I don't know. That sounds a little scary."

"Right. Well, it won't work if you're not comfortable with it, I suppose."

"I've just been trying to stick around things that feel familiar, that's why I wandered out here."

"Oh?"

"I went walking by that hall, where they have dances and events. Felt like I'd been there before. And then I went by the store with all the baby supplies."

"Baby supplies? Do you think you were having a baby, before? Or planning to?" Mary Margaret looked down at her hands momentarily, then back up at him and hastily added, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry."

"No, it's alright. I don't know, I'll have to ask. I think I'd like to have one though."

"Can't even remember who you are, but already know you'd like to have children. I think that's a sure sign that you'll be a great father one day."

David smiled, his entire face lighting up as he did so. "I hope you're right. What about you?"

"I'd love kids. But I don't know if I'd be a very good mom."

"Well, why not? You're already a teacher. You're patient and understanding, any child would be lucky to have you for a mother."

Mary blushed, not willing to meet his eyes at the praise. "Thank you," she said quietly. "This is your street."

"No need to thank me for stating the truth," he said, attempting to catch her eye again. Not even bothering to search their surroundings for his house. Instead, they stopped walking and she looked back up at him, and then their gazes caught. "I meant what I said last time, you're the only person I've felt comfortable with in this entire town."

"David..."

"Just-just listen. I keep forgetting my own wife's name. I can't sleep in the same bed as her because just the way she moves is unfamiliar. Just your smile is familiar to me. I can't even find my own house, but I can map out the route to your apartment. "

"I can't be the one who gets between a man and his wife."

"That's just another thing to admire about you."

"Stop, don't-" but she was cut off as his hands found their way to her jaw, cupping her face as he pulled her in for a deep, kiss, drawing the air from each others' lungs. And then it began, small flares going off in their heads as if the kiss was a key and their minds had been locked.

Mary Margaret pulled away, jumping back. It was confusing and her head had started to spin."I-I have to go," she said briskly, and turned away, rushing down the street.

Standing on the corner, David watched her run, wanting nothing more than to follow her. The shape of her didn't change much as he turned the other way and she was long out of sight; his mind's eye pictured a dainty white dress, long, dark black hair, that same sprint through a forest of lush greens, and the never-ending sound of singing birds.

* * *

><p><strong>PRESENT<strong>

"Why are we out trekking through the woods again?" Emma asks with a sigh. She's a city girl, much more comfortable walking along the sidewalk than the underbrush of the woods. At this moment, she's wishing she owned another pair of boots more suited for this kind of terrain. Snow, however, is wearing a set of running shoes – much more comfortable.

"Henry asked me to take you to find something out here to prove his theory, I'm just keeping a promise," Snow answers, having hopped over a set of logs. She's waiting in front, watching as Emma gingerly climbs over in a much less elegant fashion.

"Okay, I get that, not that we're going to find anything," Emma murmurs, wiping down her jeans. "But why's _he_ here?" She rolls her eyes, and James, a few feet in front of them, hears the comment, looking a little hurt.

"You're the one who invited him to stay the night."

"I didn't realize it meant he'd be our new best friend," she grumbles.

Snow begins to chuckle at the comment as she climbs another set of fallen trees. On the other side, James is already waiting, his arm out to offer her some support on her way down. She doesn't take the offer though, looking at him pointedly and jumping down by herself to leave him hanging. When it's Emma's turn to do the same, she slaps James' hand away and ends up landing awkwardly, one knee hitting the ground. Instinctively, James leans down to help her up but his help is met with a glare and he backs away. The women in his life were so damn stubborn.

"What are you two? Like some super forest ninjas or something?" Emma mutters, getting back up on her feet, disliking the fact that they're both hovering over her. When she assures them she's fine, they continue on the beaten down path and she follows from behind.

"Maybe I was a lumberjack," James suggests with a shrug, and Snow softly whacks his shoulder in laughter.

Emma watches the interaction, her eyebrows crinkled in judgement. She feels the urge to say 'married' and disguise it with a cough but decides against it. Mary seems happy and she doesn't want to interrupt that. Not now.

The trio continue to make their way through the woods, Emma constantly swatting at groups of flies getting in her face. She complains a few times, but her parents don't indulge in her whining so she gives up and their walk is mostly silent until Snow spots a clearing. "There!" she exclaims, her arm outstretched as she points towards a meadow of sorts. As they make their way through the trees, the outline of a house becomes distinguishable.

"Are we looking for hobbits?" Emma asks as she takes in the shape of the thin, four story house, built of wood, and painted a variety of colours. Her expression is unknowingly judgemental.

"That's offensive," Snow chides. She makes a face as she realizes her mistake. Emma's being sarcastic, she realizes, not insulting an assembly of dwarfs. She doesn't even believe they exist.

"Sorry...?" Emma apologizes, unsure, and the topic is dropped.

The three stop before entering the clearing, still shaded by the trees. James is clearing a path through the thick trees for them to go through, the women watching.

"Did you know that anyone lived out here?"

There's no answer from either of them, Snow is squinting trying to get a good view of the surroundings and possible signs of life.

"Mary?"

Snow snaps herself out of her concentration. "Oh, uhm, no. Henry just said to look around."

"Guess we got all we need, I'll go back to the police station and do a little research on-"

Emma stopped mid-sentence as Snow, without warning, made her way past the trees into the clearing, in a brisk walk toward the house.

"What are you doing? You don't know whose house that is!" she calls out, the palms of her hands toward the sky.

Snow has already reached the front door; she knocks, and the echo of the rapping sounds rickety. Now that she's up close, she can tell that the place is far more run down than she'd first assumed. There's no sound, so she grasps the handle, turns it, and pushes inward.

"Think we should we follow her?" James asks his daughter, eyebrows raised.

Emma looks at him pointedly, and sighs. "Yeah, good idea," she agrees, her voice cynical as the push their way into the meadow and rush after her.

Snow takes a step inside, the wood under her feet creaking. "Hello?" she bellows, "Anyone home?" Silence.

"Are you okay?" Emma asks, a hint of worry in her voice as she follows after the other woman inside. James checks around back first, just in case, before rejoining them.

"I'm fine," Snow replies, smiling to assure the blonde.

"You don't think you're maybe acting a little strange?" she continues. "Maybe a little, impulsive?"

"I'm always like this," Snow answers, trying to brush past the topic, hoping her daughter would drop it before she feels the need to spill everything. She turns away from her, so Emma can't watch her facial expressions and makes her way into the living room. There's dust everywhere, and she scratches her nose in discomfort.

"Yeah... Sure you are."

"I like her like this. It's alluring," James chimes in, a grin on his face.

"Watch it, lover boy."

"Emma..."

"Sorry, that was snippy."

"No, not that. Look, does this seem familiar to you?"

"Oh my God..."

**Author's Note:** Finals week killed me, but I'm back at top form now! No more hiatuses from me, only the show, now. There's a little Easter egg of sorts in this chapter. Free hugs to whoever figures it out. Thank you for the reviews. To those who mentioned this, I _will_ be showing how James came to stay with them. Patience, dear readers! Oh, and drop a review. Tell me how I'm doing!


	5. Chapter 5

**SIX DAYS EARLIER**

"What time did you come home last night?" Emma asked with a yawn, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She tilted her head slightly to the side, eyebrows raised as she awaited the answer.

"You'd already gone to sleep," Mary answered, retrieving her own mug from the cupboard and handing it to her roommate to pour for her as well.

"Oh?" Emma said, clearly asking for more and expecting a very specific answer.

"What?" the brunette asked, feigning naivety. Mary took the mug by the handle and turned away from the other woman, blowing lighting upon the top skim of her warm drink. She'd had trouble sleeping last night, and this cup of caffeine was needed. The only thing that was going to fix the bags under her eyes after her late night would be concealer.

Emma looked apprehensive. "So you just helped him find his way home? That's it?"

"Yes, that's it," she answered finitely. Mary sat down at the dining table, seeing that Emma had already gone down to pick up the paper. It was Sunday, so she removed the TV guide placed in the middle of the entertainment section, placed it to the side, and then began to read.

Focusing on the words were near impossible, her mind was so cluttered. It was subtle, the things flying through her thoughts. Not images or voices, but feelings – almost like nostalgia, background sounds as opposed to words or music, it was mildly disorienting. It was the sense of constant deja vu. And Mary was trying her best to play it off as fatigue.

"Oh, come on, you can tell me," Emma said, sliding into the chair beside, moving into Mary's personal bubble with those puppy dog eyes she did so well.

"Emma," she said, almost stern, "nothing happened." Mary kept her eyes on the paper in her hands, not even passing a glance toward the blonde who huffed lightly.

"I can tell when someone is lying, you know," she stood up, having given up with that comment and moved to grab her sweater on the rack, throwing it on.

The knock on the door drew both their attention, and Emma, already standing up, decided to be the one to open it. There was a satisfied smirk that came across her face as she revealed who it was. "I think it's for you," Emma said, taking a step back to reveal the man in the doorway. She turned around, gave a cheeky glance at her roommate then headed up the stairs.

"David, what are you doing here?" Mary asked, a bit dejectedly. She stood up from the table and made her way to the door.

"We need to talk," he answered, letting himself into the apartment, circling around her so she couldn't just shut the door in his face. "I'm sorry for kissing you but I had to. I ran after you yesterday, but you left so fast." He searched himself for words, looking down at the floor. "I'm remembering things, Snow. And all I could think about when I woke up this morning was to run and find you and Emma, because-because-"

Mary took a step back. "David, slow down. What are you talking about?"

"James."

"What?"

"James. My name is James, not David." He bridged the gap between them,

"I'm sorry, I'm confused."

"Snow, it's me. Come on, I know you know; because you're the reason that I've started to remember. And right then, when I first said your name, you didn't even look confused."

"This... this is ridiculous," she shook her head, side-to-side in denial.

"Is it? Tell me nothing's changed since we kissed."

"Noth-nothing's changed," Mary said unconvincingly, her hesitancy giving away more than she wished it to.

"Nothing at all?"

"I remember," she breathed. "Not like you." Her voice was quiet, like she couldn't believe she was saying the things she was. "Feelings, smells, habits – I don't know."

"I remember everything. My childhood, my mother, my life – _our_ life."

"I already have a life, David!" she said, exasperated. "This… this is insane."

"What's insane is what's happened to us. Snow, listen to me," he said imploringly. "It's going to be okay. It'll come back to you."

She continued to look up at him, unable to shake the familiarity that came with his face. She hadn't realized how much the sense had intensified since the previous night. The crooked smile, same as Emma's – it eluded her how she hadn't noticed it before. Mary swallowed thickly as the idea began to sink in. "This is – it's too much, I think you should go." She placed a hand to his chest and looked down.

James moved his hand to enclose hers. "Snow…"

"Please, just leave," she repeated, louder this time.

"Is there a problem?" Emma called protectively, peeking down from the stairs. The increased volume of Mary's voice drew her attention.

"No," Mary replied, loud enough for her voice to ring true and clear throughout the apartment. "David's just leaving."

"You'll remember. And I'll be waiting," he promised, stepping backwards until he reached the door. Before leaving, he took a single look back and their eyes caught. Mary shook her head at him slowly, reading his thoughts, and he nodded dejectedly, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

><p><strong>PRESENT DAY<strong>

"… What is it?" James asked, feeling the slightest bit ostracized that the women seemed to be sharing in knowledge he did not have. The women gave each other sidelong glances, and Emma seemed exasperated.

"Henry!" Emma called out to the air, frustration tugging at the edges of her lips.

From the underside of the creaky wooden stairs, the boy popped out, staring at them wide-eyed. "How did you know?"

"You left your jacket on the railing," Emma said, nudging her head in the direction of his coat draped over the wooden finishing. Henry reached over, taking the jacket into his arms and walking toward his birth mother.

"Henry. Why did you tell us to come out here?" Snow asked, bending down slightly to be level with the boy.

"Because, I needed us to talk somewhere where the Queen couldn't listen in," he answered, shaking his head, as though she should have known that all along and it was ridiculous that she didn't. "She could have spies everywhere, Snow. This is a safe place." She smiled at his words, or at least the sound of her own name. It was comforting to be called that by someone other than her husband, from whom it was so typical it barely registered with her.

Emma wasn't willing to indulge this time though. She wrapped a hand around his arm and pulled him close. "Henry, it's dangerous for you to go out into the woods by yourself. Anything could have happened to you. You need to stop wandering off."

"You sound like _her_," he said pointedly, and Emma wrinkled her nose in distaste. The comparison to his mother was not something she ever wanted to hear.

"So what? You shouldn't have done it."

"Emma, it's okay. He just wanted to talk with us," Snow said, feeling sympathy for the boy pouting back at her.

"It's not okay. I don't want a repeat of the mine incident."

"Well, he's fine right now. Scold him later. Henry, what did you want to talk to us about?"

"You have to tell her," he said forcefully, looking between his grandparents.

"Tell who what?" Emma asked. The question was open-ended, but the three of them remained silent. Impatient, she stood up at full height again. "Hello?"

"Fine. I'll do it," Henry said, rolling his eyes. "They remember who they are, Emma."

"What?"

"Go on, tell her," the boy urged.

James and Snow passed each other looks; looks filled with worry and fear and possibly a little relief. "Henry…" James started, not sure there was a good way for this to end. Lying to her wouldn't do any good, but he didn't think admitting anything would help any either.

Another bout of silence overcame the current occupants of the protected house in the middle of the forest. Just as Emma started to heave a sigh of frustration, her mother spoke up. "We remember who we are. Henry's right. He's been right all along."

The woman across from her began to scoff, giving Snow a look of pure cynicism. "That's- that's- what?"

"Emma, James and I – David," she iterated, "we got our memories back. I know you think this is absolutely ridiculous. But we're your parents."

Emma glanced toward James, who looked equally as confused and helpless as she did. "Seriously? We walked four miles through mud so you guys could play make believe with my ten year old son? I have an actual job, you know. I'm going to go wait outside, when you're done exploring, come find me."

"Emma…" Snow said, reaching out to grab her daughter's lower arm. But the sentence was lost as Emma shrugged her hand away and stepped back. Snow watched the woman exit through the front door, and then threw her hands up before her in defeat and let out a breath. "See, I knew that would happen."

"I'm going to go talk to her," James said boldly, already making his way toward the door. It was clear he'd already made his mind up about doing so – Snow opened her mouth to protest the decision, but he held up a hand to stop her. "I'm not going to force her to believe it, Snow. Just going to talk." She still seemed wary about it as her husband opened the front door, but he didn't pay it any attention. He was going to talk to his daughter. Even if she didn't like him.

**Author's Note:** I am actually a bad person. Can't believe this took over a month, so sorry, guys. I even said 'no more hiatuses from me'. I am a liar, yeesh. My muse just did not want to cooperate, and I didn't have any ideas for how I wanted to continue the story. I do now though. Also, the Easter egg was that the road David's house was on was an anagram of 'charming' in chapter four. Only one person got it! Though, I suppose it was rather difficult to figure out. Drop a review, even though I suck big time.


	6. Chapter 6

**TWO DAYS EARLIER**

"Are you okay?" Emma asked, more concern on her face than the few nights prior when she had first found the man sitting on the curb. "Lost again?"

"No," he replied, jumping to his feet at her presence. "I mean, yes, I'm okay. No, I'm not lost."

"Okay," Emma replied, giving a miniscule shrug, and began to walk away toward the main street of shops. This was her version of walking the beat.

"That's it?" James questioned. This was the first time he'd had the chance to say words to his adult daughter and preferred not to pass the opportunity up. Mary Margaret might not have believed she was Snow White, but he could still try to figure something else out.

"… You said you're okay."

"Right… yeah," he started, attempting to buy time to make up something convincing. He'd sensed that she was more intuitive than he could fool, so he figured the truth might fare him a little better. "I actually am looking for something."

Emma stopped and turned back to face him, the streetlamps made them harsh shadows in the street, but the look of her typical skepticism was evident. "Yeah? I don't really know the town that much, but if what you're looking for a person is to arrest someone, I can do that."

"I was wondering if there were any places I could stay. Somewhere cheap."

"You do remember that you have a house, right?"

James flashed a pointed look, but found that he was quite used to women who gave him a bit of snark. "Yes, thank you, I do. But I… well, I left. We're having some issues. And now I need a place to stay."

"Sorry to hear that," she said with a half-frown. "Granny has a Bed & Breakfast, she can rent you a room. Until something opens up, I guess. But nothing has in a long time, I can tell you that." Her attempts at finding her own place continued into the first two weeks she'd begun lived with Mary Margaret, and proved completely fruitless. She'd already given up long ago.

"When I said cheap, I _really_ meant it," he could feel the heat of embarrassment encroach upon her cheeks, and thanked the darkness that she wouldn't be able to notice any blushing. "I haven't been able to get a job since the coma, and it's been tough."

"_Oh_," Emma said, realization dawning on her face. "I guess you could ask Mr. Gold if he can help you out, he owns the town, although I don't think he's really a favours kind of guy. How about you get a room at Granny's tonight and tomorrow I'll do some research, see if I can't find some way to help you out."

"Uhm, okay I guess," he said uncertainly, hoping he had at least that. James had left the house on rather terrible terms with his alter ego's wife and was wishing he'd had the foresight to bring something with him. "Thanks."

"No problem," Emma replied with a tight smile, and turned back toward the street, heading down toward the next intersection though James still stood in his spot, watching her form walk away. She hadn't gotten ten metres away when she stopped and blew out a deep breath, not quite sure why she was about to do what she was about to do. She turned around slowly, noted that he had still not moved and called out to him. "If you're really tight on money, if you want, you can crash in our apartment tonight."

"Oh, no, I shouldn't impose like that. Plus, Mary Margaret might not be comfortable with it."

"Oh please, it's like the Blanchard Home for Strays. She gets some weird immense joy from helping people who she probably shouldn't trust."

"And how do you know you can trust me?" he asked, grinning in a way that he hoped proved she could.

"I don't. But you're still limping from your coma; I think I could probably take you."

He considered the offer for a moment; James truly did not want to impose. But the idea that he was imposing on his own flesh and blood seemed silly when he realized the full concept. "Okay. Thank you, Emma."

"Sure, whatever, let's go," she said impatiently, as though he should already have been walking beside her.

When he did catch up to her, there was a lopsided grin on his face that he couldn't seem to shake and his daughter only glanced at him with mild exasperation. "You know, I think you get some 'weird immense joy from helping people you probably shouldn't' too."

"Don't push it, I can still leave you out in the street."

**PRESENT DAY**

Across the clearing, Emma was already walking towards a fallen tree, its trunk barren; it seemed a good place to sit. She wiped it off with her sleeve, swatting away a little dirt before taking a seat. She'd realized how bad an idea it was as she felt a tickling sensation on her resting hand and looked down to spot the tiny red insect crawling up the length of her finger. Furiously, she shook her hand; it was pure instinct.

She groaned as she peered up into the sky, pretending for just a moment that she was in a paved park and not the middle of no and where. "I really hate these damn woods," she muttered.

"They're not so bad once you figure out how to navigate through them."

"David," Emma said, looking at him pointedly, "didn't expect _you_ here." He smiled in response, gesturing first that he was going to sit down beside her before doing so.

"Well, you know, I did come out here _with_ you," he said with a cheeky grin, but Emma only glared in response, unamused. The failure of his jest drew James to silence, scratching the back of his neck with his left hand. "Hey, look," he started awkwardly, "I know it's a lot to take in…"

"What is?"

"That we're- you know, your-," he gestured vaguely toward the house in front of them.

"That you're wasting my time, when I should be at work, to play in the forest with the three of you?" she asked, snippy.

"Emma, I'm sorry, but, maybe it's-"

"No," she said, receiving a confused look for her interruption. "You don't understand. When Henry says stuff like that, I get it; he's a kid. But… I've never had parents, okay? I've been looking for them my whole life, and I just- I'm not interested in playing games."

"Right…" James said slowly, nodding his head. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, realization sinking in. He couldn't explain the lump in his throat, but when Emma patted his leg with her hand, he looked up to see her with a brighter smile on her face.

"Hey, it's okay. You weren't the one who said anything. And I just over reacted," she shrugged and smiled wider for effect. And, though he wasn't sure how, James knew it was an act. For whatever reason, she was regretting having shared her feelings with him and the distant look in her eyes was a straight giveaway.

James hesitated to speak, prematurely anticipating the answer he would receive for the next words to come out of his mouth, but boldness took over him. "No, it's not okay. You're not okay with it, and I understand. You're allowed to have feelings, Emma. It's okay to share them, too."

"Excuse me? I share feelings," she said unconvincingly.

"Yes, I'm sure you do," he responded, clearly not believing her.

"Look, I have no idea who the hell you think you are. But you don't know me; I have feelings."

"I'm not saying you don't _have_ them. Of course you do. But you're also scared of them. And-"

Emma scoffed, standing up. "I don't have to listen to this."

But James wouldn't have it; he swiftly grabbed hold of her arm and had her sit back down. "Can you just listen? I'm trying to talk here." He'd said the words nicely, and inexplicably, Emma obeyed. "I'm not asking you to share your feelings with me. I'm a stranger, I know. But you did, and you shouldn't regret it. I know you don't like me, but I'll listen. Not everyone's a monster trying to exploit you, you know."

"I… I like you, David," she responded, though it seemed like she'd had to force the words from her mouth with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, what? Could you repeat that? I don't think I heard it properly," he cupped his earlobe with his hand and she gave him that same glare again. He bit his bottom lip and smirked at her. "I'm going to get that look a lot, aren't I?"

"Yup."

"Alright then," he said. "Go on. About the liking."

Emma laughed cynically, rolling her eyes. "What I was going to say was that I like you, well kind of, _but_, I don't trust you." Her tone had effortlessly shifted from light to a much more serious tone. "Mary Margaret is my only friend. And I can tell that she likes you. and I just… She's my only friend."

"I won't hurt her. I would never hurt her."

"How do I know that?" she asked disarmingly.

"You're just going to have to believe."

"I have trouble with doing that."

"Yeah, I can tell," he said dejectedly. "But if you can't trust me, then trust her. She likes me, you said so yourself."

"How do I know that she trusts you?"

"Have you asked her?" he questioned. "If you just talk to her maybe you'll understand why-"

James' words cut off as his eyes caught sight of the cabin. Emma opened her mouth to inquire but no words came out as she turned her head and laid eyes on what had distracted him.

"EMMA! JAMES!" Came Snow's voice and immediately Emma ran toward the house; the house that was now glowing a colour Emma had never seen before. James followed hot on her heels.

"What happened?" Emma bellowed from below the windowsill where Snow and Henry were both attempting to climb out. James opened his arms wide as Snow helped her grandson clamber out; he grabbed the boy by the shins first and then let him fall into his arms before putting him on the ground.

"I-I-I don't know," Snow answered, panicked. "The stairs collapsed, and we were rifling through the trunks and… I don't know!" She too made her way out the window, supported by James and the four of them made their way back toward safety.

"Do you believe us now?" Henry asked.

**Author's Note:** OMG, an update? What? Impossible! Yeah, I know. But today was my last exam, and I'm done my first year of university! That's why I finally had some damn free time for myself not burdened by the idea that I should be studying instead of writing a fic. I hope you enjoy; Shit is getting real. For making you all wait so long, I'm terribly sorry. But even though I'm a terrible person for doing so, you should still leave a review. Just because.


	7. Chapter 7

It wasn't easy, Mary Margaret learned (or was it Snow again?), to find a past life returning to you. To be completely honest, there hadn't been much of her current life to remember, the past just filled the empty slots at first. It wasn't until later that her head had begun to feel like it was exploding; worse than any migraine she could remember having. Not that she could actually remember any specific instance in the first place; she was just accustomed to assuming she had them, because that was the norm.

At the moment, the biggest problem was trying to distinguish her past from her present. And it wasn't as simple as it might have seemed. There were markers of course, that helped her figure it out, but then her conception of reality and subconscious was even more difficult to sort through. So she had called in sick to work, because it was engrained in her head that she was a teacher of children; that was real. She also knew this; the second time David – no, _James – _had addressed her as Snow, she'd felt inclined to respond. And so, _Snow_ had realized, she needed to apologize to her husband, because that too was completely engrained in memory that she wondered how she ever doubted it in the first place.

Leaning over the counter, she decided as soon as she had finished the last of the tea and done the dishes, she'd be on her way. To his house was her best bet, but wasn't sure what to do if she came face to face with Kathryn, and while that thought made Mary Margaret nervous, Snow White's tenacity would prevail - until the fit blonde came walking through the door toward her.

Just as Snow opened her mouth to chastise Emma for not locking the door behind her, Emma spoke first. "I did something," she said, looking like a child who'd broken her mommy's favourite vase.

Snow almost chuckled, but the urge washed away as she realized this was the first time she'd ever seen the expression on her own daughter's face. Tears threatened to show as this realization was sinking in, pure emotion as she shakily asked, "What?"

"He looked really sad, and I mean, I couldn't just leave him there, I'm not a total jerk. He's broke and has nowhere else to go, and I'll make sure he doesn't even talk to you if you want. But it's just for tonight – not like when I said_ I'd_ just stay for one night, but actually one night, I promise, okay? Don't be mad."

Snow blinked; not very much of Emma's ramble had been clear. "What are you talking about?" she asked slowly.

Emma didn't answer immediately, walking back to the door and opening it wide, revealing the man who had been told to wait there until she came for him. James stood, looking rather small as he waved hello to his wife. "Don't be mad," Emma repeated. Snow felt a smirk creeping upon the edges of her mouth; the two of them looked so alike just then, faces pleading for a pleasant reaction. It must have taken too long for Snow to respond, because Emma continued speaking once again, mortified. "Oh my God, you're mad."

"No, no, I'm not mad," Snow said hurriedly. "If he really needs a place to stay, I don't mind." Emma let out a noticeable breath of relief, as she led him into the apartment.

"I'm going to go get a blanket and some sheets for the couch," she told them, but Snow grabbed a hold of her before she could go further.

"Emma, he's still injured."

She looked around. "… Oh. Okay, you can take my bed."

"Oh no, Emma. I couldn't-" James protested.

"Take my bed, or you're back on the street," was Emma's response.

James looked unsure of how to answer. "But-"

"Seriously, don't argue with me."

"Emma can sleep in my bed with me," Snow piped in.

"See? Problem solved," Emma said. Snow straightened up, surprised at how easily Emma had agreed to that. It made her elated to know that her daughter felt comfortable with such a proposition; she wasn't comfortable with close physical contact.

James found himself quite content with this turn of events, if a little surprised. But, looking at both women, he knew that if Emma was even a tiny bit like her mother, she would never have been able to leave him out on the street. "Thank you, Emma. You're very kind," he told her, braving to place a reassuring hand upon her arm. For just a moment, he had felt inclined to put a hand to her cheek soothingly, but didn't dare act upon it.

Emma looked like a deer in headlights as their eyes locked. "Okay, yeah, w-whatever," she sputtered, looking down at the floor and backing away. "Uh, I'll just show you where my room is."

As Emma climbed the stairs, James lingered for a few seconds, glancing toward the other woman in the room with an inquisitive smile. Snow smiled back, nodding once. It was all he needed to know he had his wife back.

* * *

><p>"What the <em>fuck<em> is going on?" Emma bellowed, forcing Henry to get behind her on the off-chance that the house would explode.

"Emma, language!"

"No!" Emma said, pointing her finger briskly at her mother, looking a little crazy. It's clear that she was having difficulty with the lack of sense in the situation at hand. "No! What the hell did you two do?"

Emma was rendered silent as the glowing began to dim, and in the place of the tattered house, was a rejuvenated cottage, bright and colourful upon the murky green backdrop that was the forest. Under the windowsill, flowers had begun to sprout, the wood no longer seemed dry and creaky, but had a hint of shine in the sunlight.

"Seriously, what is going on?" Emma's voice was now quiet, overwhelmed.

"Emma, we were telling you the truth," Snow said, directly in front of Emma. "I used to live her, for a while, I must have sparked something. I don't know exactly." Emma clung onto her refusal of belief, shaking her head rapidly. "Emma," Snow said forcefully, placing her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "Look at James," her eyes flickered toward him then back again. "You have his eyes."

Emma shook her head. "No, I don't have his eyes," she said quietly.

"Yes, you do," Snow said calmly but confidently.

"This is too much," she breathed.

"I know," Snow murmured and encased Emma within her arms. "I know."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I know, the second half is much too short but this was the final flashback scene, as you can see, it has come full circle to the first chapter of this story. And actually, the second bit is just the beginning as we explore Emma finally accepting the truth. I'm trying really hard to find a muse, but it's terribly difficult at the moment, which why all the slow and short updates. But I'm trying! I swear! Leave a review; they help, I swear, even if it's just sharing what your favourite part of the story is, or commenting on my writing style, or flaming me. But be warned, I will answer your flames with passive-aggressive self-justification. Just drop me a comment!


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